


superficial partial

by taonsils (mirokkuma)



Series: card fills [9]
Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Asexual Character, M/M, Painplay, Temperature Play, platonic kink, powers au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-05-19 01:45:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14864291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirokkuma/pseuds/taonsils
Summary: "I can be patient, hyung," Zitao says at least sincerely, if not truthfully. "I trust you."





	superficial partial

**Author's Note:**

> [gen bingo card fill ▲ prompt: fire/firelight]
> 
> aa I guess most importantly, if you happen to recognise this it isn't plagiarised! I originally wrote this 2014 and had an urge to rewrite it as the soft kinky ace fic it was supposed to actually be :P you could and can definitely read this that they remain platonic or that it ~changes things~, either is a valid route. tao is very much an indifferent ace and super into sensory things. pcy..is probably closeted ace hfgfd he’s closeted Something for sure. anyway I really enjoyed fixing this up, I love writing chantao and put a lot of love into them so I hope it's enjoyable ! and thank u buddy pal shawn for the readthrough at short notice☆ミ

"How about," Chanyeol says as Zitao double checks the small bolt on his bedroom door, "You just stop time."

Zitao gives him a look that may as well say _how about you shut the hell up_ , but he's painfully aware of how indebted he is to Chanyeol right now. And how much Chanyeol loves people being indebted to him. He keeps his tone soft and sweet. "It's easy if it's just me, but I couldn't keep you out of the.." he draws a little circle in the air with his finger. "Keeping someone else moving when everyone else is stopped," he says, then shakes his head. "Especially if you're going to take so long."

Chanyeol bristles. "I'm just saying. If anyone wants to get in here that lock doesn't hold all that well. And excuse me for not being more enthusiastic about inflicting grievous bodily harm."

"I am stating a fact." Zitao crosses his arms over his chest. He's learned that phrase from Junmyeon, Chanyeol suspects. It sounds strange coming from his mouth. "And it's not a big deal! Stop being so dramatic."

Little shit. It's a huge fucking deal. When Zitao first approached Chanyeol on the subject Chanyeol had agreed out of some kind of panicked, morbid fascination. And he loves making people happy. If he's the only person who can cater to this particular need (a pretty urgent one, from the sound of it), Chanyeol was signed up before rationality could convince him otherwise.

But like, right now, now Zitao's locked them in–

“Hyung, just focus.” Zitao doesn't particularly get nervous, but he’s doing that unnerving staring thing. Chanyeol’s a fidgeter; Zitao goes stock still. They have talked this through a little, if mostly in texts and insults, but all they've really established is that Zitao is very, desperately certain that he wants to be burned, and that Chanyeol enjoys holding the power to provide that over him.

Chanyeol's never actually said a word about what he plans to do. Probably because he doesn't have a fucking clue. For now, some deep breathing.

"Listen, I'm gonna hurt you. So yeah, I'm _kind_ of thinking we should treat it like it's a big deal." Chanyeol gives the row of rilakkumas lined along his bed an earnest look of apology for what they're about to witness. He turns back to shoot Zitao a withering glare, because he looks like he stopped listening after the first part of that sentence.

Zitao wasn't high in Chanyeol's estimations for being a kinky shit. He has an admirably high pain tolerance, yeah, but..really? He was the last person Chanyeol would have suspected to be interested, or even aware of that kind of thing. Zitao's never even been good at keeping secrets, never shown any sign of being _excited_ by anything beyond his usual pitchy, arm-flailing ways. And there's Chanyeol's fascination again, and why he's a moron, and why he agreed to do this. Ugh.

"I asked," Zitao says. He joins Chanyeol on the bed, perching neatly on the very edge. He clasps his hands at his knees and sits like always, back perfectly straight, head high. Zitao looks far too proper to be sitting on Chanyeol's unwashed sheets, probably about to say things Chanyeol will need to bleach from his memory. "It would be a big deal if neither of us had wanted it ourselves."

 _Shut up_ , Chanyeol thinks, staring into the space between their knees. Chanyeol knows what Zitao sounds like when he's about to go on stage, when he's about to play a game, or eat something he likes, or buy something he's wanted, and he sounds like that now. Chanyeol's not doubting that Zitao's fully confident in wanting what he's asked for out of this, but Chanyeol– Junmyeon always says if his nightmares get out of hand again to come to him, but Chanyeol doesn't think he could tell him what he sees. He's turned so many of the things he loves to ash; he's ashamed his unconscious mind could even picture it.

It’s hard sometimes. Chanyeol can work on his volume control, he can consciously stop himself from following through on the impulse to flap his arms and stamp his feet and let an emotion take hold of his whole body. Like, with effort, he can do that. With effort he can control his flames, but when the others reflexively shield themselves when he laughs he wonders exactly how well he actually has any of himself under control.

"Are you going to change your mind?"

"No," Chanyeol huffs. He may as well do something useful with his power.

"Good." Zitao clinks and jingles with even the slightest movement, either from his wrists, neck or ears. Chanyeol looks to see which, and Zitao has a settling hand over his chest. "Since we talked about this– a long time before then, also, I've been thinking about this so much, hyung. I've–"

"Woah, no, no. No," Chanyeol raises a hand. "We can do this if you don't say another word."

Zitao's mouth hangs open. He signs a confused gesture in the air.

For fucks sake. "No, just-" Chanyeol will do the thing for Zitao – favour for a friend, bro looking out for bro. He will _not_ hear a word about Zitao fantasizing about it. Or him. No, no, no. "Lets just get this over with. Give me your arm."

Chanyeol snatches his wrist and Zitao placidly watches on, letting Chanyeol find out for himself that his sleeve is too tight to fit over his elbow. Chanyeol gives Zitao's wrist a good tug, just in case it somehow stretches him out enough to make a difference. Zitao fails to change to a more convenient shape (typical Zitao), and now Chanyeol's finger and thumb are wedged in his sleeve.

"You'll have to take it off. And what I meant, was don't say any more gross shit. About this, about me," Chanyeol gestures to himself with his free hand. "Understand?"

Zitao nods. Chanyeol's busy freeing himself, but he hears Zitao's earrings. Chanyeol's fingers are cold, and Zitao blinks owlishly at him as he considers that. Zitao's never noticed before that Chanyeol feels any different to the rest of them. Presumably because he doesn't. "You guys with the elemental powers," he says, tugging his shirt up, then doesn't finish the thought.

The two of them alone – it's fine. Chanyeol loves Zitao to pieces, in the way he only proves a little more each time he vehemently denies it. Zitao just blatantly, blithely adores Chanyeol as much as he does anyone else. They don’t even get along badly, really, they just benefit from having someone of a different temperament between them.

Now isn't the time to rile each other up, but Chanyeol impatiently shoves Zitao just because he can, and Zitao's heart leaps up in his throat as his back hits the mattress.

In the end Chanyeol plucks out his favourite rilakkuma, the one in the little cow costume, and stuffs it back down with its friends facing the wall. It'd be too offputting being watched by that one. "Move," he says with a smack to Zitao's shin. Clambering in beside him takes a lot of shoving and wriggling, long legs fighting for space already taken up by longer legs. They make it a tight fit, both bigger than the average size this bed was made for, but they do fit.

"Ah," Zitao giggles when they're settled and the sentiment of their first time sharing a bed suddenly seems to hit him. His knee is in Chanyeol's thigh and Chanyeol's elbow in his ribs. And there's not an inch of Zitao that everyone in this dorm hasn't already seen, but he still crosses his arms over his bare chest and knocks Chanyeol in the throat in the process.

"So obviously we're gonna have to get organised," Chanyeol says instead of threatening his life. A true testament to his love. "And no fucking around, Tao, you have to do what I say."

Zitao nods vaguely. "You tell me to speak formally to you, but I learn from how you speak to me."

"Brat." Chanyeol knees him. Zitao snickers like his heart isn't starting to pound.

 

  
Zitao holds his arm out straight and steady when Chanyeol tells him to. They're both more comfortably slotted in on their sides now, propped on an elbow, and Chanyeol feels like this is probably one of the worst ideas he's ever had. If he does it wrong he's going to prison. If he chickens out and can't do it at all, Zitao's never going to let him live it down.

"Hyung," Zitao urges, pushing his arm nearer. They both know he could hold the position for as long as Chanyeol needs to have an internal crisis over this, but Zitao's not the type to sit out five more minutes after five whole weeks.

"I'm doing it, I'm doing it." Chanyeol pushes up his own sleeve and, somehow, despite it being Zitao he's contending with, desperately tries to neutralise the ready flare in his temper. He can't do this when he's not in the right frame of mind. (He can– he always could, but it was his family home he dreamed of last time.) "Keep totally still," he orders. Zitao's eyes dull a little – of course he already knew that, honestly.

Zitao regains focus when Chanyeol finally makes a move, though, spreading his fingers over Zitao's arm. Intrigued, Zitao keeps entirely still and silent as Chanyeol's palm ghosts an inch above his skin, sweeping from elbow to wrist, back from wrist to elbow. The breath Zitao had drawn in anticipation of pain gasps back out as the softest warmth fills the space between them, startling him. Normally Chanyeol is so heavy-handed with things, he'd half expected to see a real flame suddenly burst out.

"Don't even," Chanyeol warns, abruptly shutting off the heat with a curl of his fingers. If anything the suddenly cool air in its place is more noticeable than how subtly he was warming it. "I've never used it like this, so we're taking it slow, ok?"

"Hyung, that was so pretty," Zitao says, then shakes his head. "Not pretty. The other word. What is it?"

 _Beautiful_. The tips of Chanyeol's ears flare hotter than the heat he just created in his palm. "I don't know."

"I can be patient, hyung," Zitao says at least sincerely, if not truthfully. "I trust you."

Nice. But not actually helpful when Chanyeol is hesitant because this is very real, really happening, and he's totally lost. It would pain Chanyeol to say how wrong he'd been to send Zitao emojis and stickers every time this came up rather than actually establishing what the hell they're doing. But really, what the hell _are_ they doing?

(Chanyeol's eager to please, enjoys having something someone needs, and curious as hell – that's what he's doing.)

"Ok, the thing is," Chanyeol starts. If he hadn't already figured how eager Zitao was from all the pestering, how he immediately deflates pushes the point. "No, we're doing it," he sighs, pats Zitao's shoulder and watches him light back up. "It's just, how.." How hot. How much, how long for. How scary should this feel? "Have you done this before?"

A nod. "I had a.. the, for smoking," Zitao gestures flicking a lighter with his thumb. Chanyeol's stomach flips rather than drops. That'd be awful if he wasn't so intrigued. Turning back time evidently has all kinds of uses; Zitao's never had a mark on him that can't be traced back to work. Or maybe he has, and they've all been concerned, but not in a timeline they're living anymore. Time control is way more fucked up than creating a fire or making it rain, in Chanyeol's opinion.

"Really?"

"Only for a few days– it’s bad to look like you smoke." Zitao wrinkles his nose. "But, as much as that is ok."

Turns out Chanyeol's estimations were a long way off. "You really want me to burn you." He doesn't even know which word to emphasise, so the whole thing comes out strained. Zitao tilts his head curiously. Of course, that's what Zitao had asked. But Zitao speaks bluntly and gets his vocabulary tangled, and maybe Chanyeol had been thinking more along the lines of what he's already heard of himself. A flash of heat like wax before it cools, or a deep, burning heat like peeled ginger. Not just, like, fire. Shit.

 

  
For a few blissful seconds the wall feels cool against Chanyeol's back. It gets stuffy in here anyway, and having Zitao crammed into the bed beside him was starting to get his skin all clammy where they were practically touching in places. Zitao's still propped on his elbow, curled in around Chanyeol to fit the new position. He hasn't whined at all about having to lie on Chanyeol's bony knees, too absorbed in watching Chanyeol's fingers and thumb pinching and swiping together. He’s hoping to see sparks.

The thing is, Chanyeol isn't an ember. He doesn't need time to heat. It's ready energy, just all some kind of muscle memory. But Zitao doesn't know that, so Chanyeol can take his time agonising over how to start out. If he agonises for too long he’ll lose his nerve.

"Arm. Keep it still," he instructs, and Zitao complies so fast it almost startles him. "Stay exactly like this," Chanyeol says after tugging the point of Zitao's elbow away from his crotch and stretching his arm out across his thigh. Whatever kind of weird he'd been anticipating, the reality is pretty much definitely worse.

Zitao's eyes are already fixed on his hand, so Chanyeol doesn't say anything to signal he's going to start. Zitao would only make some breathy sound Chanyeol doesn't need to hear anyway. This is going to be fine. Dreams are dreams; Zitao apparently makes good use of that pain tolerance already and knows what he's getting himself into.

"Hyung," Zitao gives Chanyeol a painfully soft look as Chanyeol presses his fingertips to the hinge of Zitao's elbow. It's a _thank you_ rather than a _fuck you_ , but Chanyeol hates feeling jittery like this. If Zitao's reassuring him that it's ok to go slow, Chanyeol's going to do the exact opposite.

The pads of his fingers skitter over Zitao's arm as he swipes them down, an abrupt move like he's trying to strike a match. Zitao jolts in surprise at the streak of heat, and there's that soft breathy sound Chanyeol didn't need. "How was that?"

Both of his hands are occupied with Zitao's left, and Zitao's free hand didn't even grip the sheets.

"More slower. Hyung, it was hardly even hot at all."

"You're an ungrateful brat, you know that?"

"It'd be fine if you were doing it right."

"Listen–" Chanyeol tears his eyes away from the skin he's just touched to see Zitao doing what he does best – looking like an infuriatingly pleased, cosy kitten curled up there. The more irritated Chanyeol's getting the more Zitao seems to be enjoying the threat, and– you know what, Chanyeol's fascination with what Zitao is like when he's _interested_ is.. no, it's still there. Definitely a curiosity beyond Chanyeol's better judgement.

The useful thing with Zitao, though, is that he's as easy to wind back down as he is to rile up. He responds quickly and entirely, so all it takes is Chanyeol pressing warm fingers into his wrist for him to mellow back out. For some reason that involves a snuffling, wriggling move that presses his face into Chanyeol's waist, but ok. Stopping this from getting weirder is a lost cause at this point.

Each breath in is hot and a little smothered from against Chanyeol's hoodie, but Zitao's getting heavy and hazy just from being touched so much anyway. Chanyeol's found a pressure point – three fingers width down from the palm. It's for nausea, but it doesn't seem to be doing much for the butterflies still making Zitao want to squirm and press his body in tighter to Chanyeol.

"You're gonna say _stop_ if it gets too much, ok?" Chanyeol rumbles above his head. The little nod Zitao gives isn't confirmation enough, and he whines when Chanyeol's fingers dig in at his wrist. "What are you gonna say?"

"Why are you–" Zitao starts, but Chanyeol's so close to actually doing him this favour now, so he swallows the rest back down. "I'll say _stop_ ," he over-pronounces, sounding weirdly like Jongdae for a second. Chanyeol doesn't even praise him for it. Zitao scowls, but when he peeks out to make sure Chanyeol knows it, he's frowning in concentration. "I'll say it, hyung," Zitao presses, more aware of his pulse throbbing against Chanyeol's grip than the butterflies now.

Chanyeol's skin warms slowly. On an inhale the pads of his fingers are just tepid; as he slowly blows the breath back out they heat like metal under the sun. And shit, ok– that's a lot more what Zitao's been angling for. He tries to swallow back a gasp in case it discourages Chanyeol from what he's doing, but the deeper the heat reaches the tighter his throat constricts, until the tiniest sound escapes and the sting abruptly isn't focused into his forearm. It spreads and eases, and Zitao mashes his face back in against Chanyeol's side.

Chanyeol's fingers have left three small, pink rounds on Zitao's arm. They look like the kind that'll just fade away in time, but there's heat coming from them, like it's Zitao with fire under his skin. He moves up to thicker skin next, pressing four fingers flat to Zitao's outer arm, nearer to his elbow. The sound Zitao makes against his waist isn't a pained one, and the way he shudders as the heat starts to seep in rapidly replaces Chanyeol's trepidation with a kind of heat of its own. This isn't some kind of competition, but Chanyeol still feels like he just started winning.

"More?" Zitao hears, and thankfully Chanyeol takes the little whine he lets out as an answer. He could say _stop_ if he needed to, really needed to and tried, but that's the last thing he wants to do.

Chanyeol's fingers maybe drag a little higher, but Zitao can't be sure. It's just white-hot pressure now, sweeter than an open flame, deeper than any source of artificial heat he's been able to get his hands on. The increase is too slight to even notice until the sharpness sets in, drawing to a peak under the centre of each finger. It's a kind of pain that goes straight to the pit of his stomach and numbs pretty much everything else, bright and strong and Zitao whimpers like he's close to tears when Chanyeol makes the decision for him that he's had enough.

"Hyung–" Zitao butts his cheek against Chanyeol's waist. "I didn't say it. I would say it."

"You're shaking." Chanyeol twists the little he can with half of Zitao sprawled across him, trying to see his face where he's burying himself away at Chanyeol's side. Zitao feels clammy when Chanyeol pushes a hand down into his hair. He eases him away enough to see that he's entirely off focus, but from the fact he's still complaining, assumedly not in a bad way. "Tao," Chanyeol says way too softly. He clears his throat and straightens up against the wall again. "How are you doing?"

Aching everywhere, heat still throbbing under his skin. His pulse is aching in his temple, his chest aching from the bated breaths. Couldn't place when he got hard enough to be pressing down on the mattress to hide it, but when Chanyeol's cold fingers run over the patch of skin he's been working on, that– "Good," Zitao breathes. That's what aches the most and what he cares about least. "I can still– more, hyung."

"What happens if it leaves marks?" Chanyeol asks. The idea he's getting is a stupid, probably dangerous one, but Zitao's enthusiasm has forced his nightmares to take a backseat to how good it feels to really play with this again. He's been making excuses to avoid igniting for so long, but the only concern on his mind right now is Zitao's limitations. And that if he hurts him beyond those, Junmyeon will have a ready reason to give the media for Chanyeol's sudden disappearance.

"I'll go back and undo it."

That makes Chanyeol's brain hurt. But ok, he can go ahead with his terrible idea. "If I– look, Tao," he elbows Zitao to pull his face away from his side again, "If I do this, is it still good with you?"

Zitao sees the sudden glow of light over them both before he even looks up. "Yes," he replies the moment he sees the small flames licking around Chanyeol's palm. They're soft and pure orange, even heat throughout, and don't flicker as Chanyeol moves his hand. The way the flames roll over his skin and wind between his fingers is kind of cute, like they're all tiny little living, playful things. Zitao gulps down the pressure in his throat and settles again, more on his front to give full access to his back.

"And?" Chanyeol nudges.

"And I say stop if I need," Zitao recites, but he's pretty sure he's more likely to be using his own power and making better decisions in another timeline than he's going to be saying that.

 _Good boy_ , Chanyeol nearly says, but that would be weird. Even weirder than how weird this already is. It's not like Chanyeol can't see the tense and release of his muscles. With Chanyeol's knees pressed in at Zitao's stomach, it's not like Chanyeol couldn't feel his hips rocking down. Which wasn't actually something he'd anticipated, but admittedly is only adding to the massive swelling of his ego right now. Chanyeol wants nothing to do with that, but the further they take this the more he feels like he needs to keep going, too. He's as in control of this as he ever was; it's so, so good to remember that. And it's not half bad making Zitao such a mess in the process, really, because Chanyeol often loses when they fight during working hours.

“I’ll start.” Encouraged by how easy this has been so far, Chanyeol lets the pride smother his nerves. It still takes focus to not let the flames shy away from skin. Nothing sudden, nothing harsh. He dips the heat down in quick, light touches, just enough contact for it to count. He’s really burning him, and it’s– it’s not scary. That’s the easiest feeling to place.

Zitao promised no gross things and he’s usually a man of his word, but even if he managed to sharply suck in the groan that was leaking out he hasn’t stopped wriggling. And then without warning he ruts down, and Chanyeol’s flames snuff out all at once.

“No fucking sudden movements, fucks sake,” he smacks Zitao’s shoulder hard. He’s not mad because it’s gross. Even though he startled he didn’t flare up, and that’s..that’s good to know. Zitao whines unintelligibly. “Little shit,” he spits in reply, but he still kneads the heel of his palm into Zitao’s back to soothe him. His heart dropped into his stomach because he was frightened for a moment, but they both leapt up in his throat when he realised what Zitao was doing.

The dorm sounds unusually quiet for the long moment neither of them make a sound. Chanyeol’s not sure if he prefers the idea of privacy or if he’d rather know they were all there to help.

Eventually he says, "A reliable source told me you're not into that." Zitao told Chanyeol himself. And Zitao's pretty useless at implication even when he's not half out of his mind on endorphins, so Chanyeol swats at him again. "Stop rubbing off on my bed. You told me you're not into that shit." That's partly why this was ok– Chanyeol's not going to lie, he liked the idea of touching someone without it having to be that way. Well, he has been lying about that through his teeth, but Zitao's apparently been lying that he wouldn't get off to it, so they're even.

Zitao's eyes pinch shut, either trying to recall the conversation or stop Chanyeol from totally dragging him back out of the nice, numb place he'd been headed for. "I said I don't like sex."

"No fucking difference, you're still–“

"I'm not asking you to help, ge,” Zitao blinks, slow and sleepy, “Do you want me to go back to then and explain differently?”

No, no. No fucking around with time just to justify a boner. "Keep your hands where I can see them." Knowing Zitao, on his dick but in plain sight, so Chanyeol tugs at his arm. "Up here. Hold the pillow.” This is ridiculous. “It's hyung.”

"I didn't lie, _hyung_. I'm not– I wouldn't want anyone else to touch me. Why are you so mad?" Zitao scowls accusingly, like he's not entirely the one at fault for this whole situation. "I don't want this because of you. I don't want to do anything with you.”

That was probably supposed to be reassuring, but put it down to Chanyeol's rejection sensitivity, it still feels a little wounding. Nothing to do with Chanyeol and everything to do with the fire in his palm. Chanyeol's an admitted advantage – familiar and with Zitao’s best interests at heart (and cuddlier than he lets on.)

"That's rude _and_ selfish, Huang Zitao." Deeper than how fucking complicated this is getting, Chanyeol's..concerned. They're friends– family, practically, and yeah he's going to have his little tantrum over this, but there's no consequence. Hopefully Zitao knows you can't just ask people to get you started and then tell them they’re no longer necessary, but honestly, who knows with this kid.

"Not wanting other people doesn't mean never wanting anything. If it happens it happens, I dunno.”

"Yeah? Well make it stop fucking happening in my bed.” Chanyeol almost sounds convincing. Zitao’s not the best at reading between lines, but he does know he’d have been kicked out if Chanyeol was serious. Chanyeol wouldn’t be setting him back in position and rubbing his fingers like he’s reigniting the spark.

“You don’t mind,” Zitao says in a tone too neutral to imply anything. Continuing, he means, but if he’d meant anything else it would have been true. He keeps his hands exactly where Chanyeol told him to, dropping his head down between his raised arms when the flames break out along Chanyeol’s fingers.

“You’re gonna owe me for this, ok?” The whole making peace with his power again thing, Chanyeol’s just taking that as the initial payment. He still doesn’t push down into Zitao’s skin, but he holds the soft flames against him for a second longer this time. Tapping his fingertips in a gentle line down Zitao’s back, feeling him tense and release. “Are you listening?” Chanyeol presses, doesn’t flare any hotter.

Zitao just breathes. His eyes and mouth are wet, white heat in his veins and belly and brain. “Yes,” he manages on an exhale, “Owe– hyung, anything, yes,” and it’s worth it. Fingers dip between his shoulder blades and skim down low, and that’s–

“Anything, really,” Chanyeol mutters disbelievingly. Better make it worth anything, in that case. He leans down, plants the flat of hand to the base of Zitao’s spine and drags upwards.

It punches a sound out of Zitao, just a little wavering moan as the pain floods through. For the longest ten seconds of his life he thinks he’ll come like this, skin blistering, draped over Chanyeol’s knees. The pulse of pain and arousal peaks as the same long, mind numbing buzz. By the time it’s fading and the burns are starting to ache Zitao’s not too clear if he did or not. Dazed, all that’s really registering is the heat radiating from under his skin. It just hurts now. It _hurts_. His whimpering quickly takes on a different tone as the stars fade from behind his eyes, dying out into pain.

Chanyeol’s ears and cheeks are flushed scarlet, but then the sniffling starts. The heat and colour drains from him. For a moment he ignores it, picking at his jeans and staring over at the line of rilakkumas. He’s glad he turned his favourite one away. He was too much, like he’s always too much, and he doesn’t know what happens next.

Panic, it turns out. Zitao’s trembling as he turns onto his side. He’s crying. He didn’t even cry when he skinned his shin down to the muscle. Chanyeol’s heart thunders. One of the others will be able to help, or get help. “Ok,” he gulps, “Ok, just– I need to get up, and..”

Zitao just whines and somehow seems to get even heavier in his lap.

“Tao, come on–“

Whine. He pushes a hand into Chanyeol’s waist, gripping his hoodie tight and tugging. “Stop talking. It’s not– that, I just. You have to–“ he sniffs loudly and tucks his head in, trying to wipe his wet cheek against his upper arm.

Hold him, it turns out, is what Chanyeol has to do. It’s very much in the realm of things he insisted weren’t allowed to be a part of this, but then so was Zitao grinding into his leg and actual fucking fire being involved. Anyway it’s aftercare, that’s important. Necessary cuddles that Chanyeol will provide because he’s doing this properly.

“You’re selfish, you know?” Chanyeol says to the crumpled, blistered heap in his lap, “I get scared of this sometimes.”

 

  
“I remembered the word.” Zitao’s eyes are dry again. He only needed a few minutes of Chanyeol petting his head like he’s Kandy for the tension to melt out. Now he’s just cosy and tired. “Before, I couldn’t think of it. Not pretty. Beautiful.”

“That’s not the right word,” Chanyeol replies glumly. His left arm is dead under Zitao and the sight of his blistered skin is making Chanyeol queasy. “Hey. After you’ve undone this, are you going to like..go back and do it again?”

It’s a relief to hear Zitao giggle. Like, he’s a little shit and Chanyeol _hates_ him right now, but it’s good to see him smiling again. “Maybe I already am.”

“What,” Chanyeol groans, “Don’t do that. Fucking with time is wrong. If I ask next time don’t tell me.”

Zitao laughs, but it hurts. His skin pulls tight, numb and buzzing. “I think I need to do that now,” he says softly, and maybe he nuzzles in just a little closer. He really doesn’t like altering time much himself. Some things just aren’t ever quite the same when a moment stops existing for everyone but him.

Chanyeol’s fingers still in Zitao’s hair. “To when?” Suddenly, if faced with the choice, he thinks maybe he doesn’t want to have never experienced the last half hour.

“Mm, I think, before we started would be easiest. I can just say I changed my mind. You won’t know this happened.” Zitao flicks a look up at him, eyes still damp. It adds to the glitter already in them. He loves Chanyeol a lot, and it may be gross, but Chanyeol’s not so sure he wants to forget they did this. “So you didn’t really need to complain so much.”

“Obviously I complained, you have no sense of self-preservation,” Chanyeol says as though he isn’t the one with a reputation for being capable of falling over while sitting down. He worms his fingers down deeper in Zitao’s hair and sighs heavily, looking away. “After that. It’s just the– this, the last one. That was the only part that shouldn’t happen.” He can feel Zitao tilting his head, looking up at him curiously. “Don’t question your hyung.”

Another long few seconds of staring, then Zitao shrugs. “Whatever you say.”

“Oh, _now_ you’re listening to me?” Chanyeol gripes, “Now? When it’s over? When you’re already hurt and you already–”

“Yes.” Zitao squeezes his arms tighter around Chanyeol. “I said I’d do anything, I don’t lie.”

“You said you wouldn’t do anything gross and look at this,” Chanyeol counters, shrugging in gesture to the pile they’re in in his bed. The absolutely gross blisters on Zitao’s back, the stickiness in his jeans, the way he keeps smiling up at Chanyeol so soft and content.

He’d say he’d change it if he could, but apparently he wouldn’t.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading ! ☀ at [tumbl](https://taonsil.tumblr.com) ❀ [twt](https://twitter.com/taonsil) if you wanna talk or see extensive meta on similar subjects


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